A Bit Of Both
by HalfASlug
Summary: Even on the darkest days, Hermione knows there is at least one thing that can make it better.


**A/N: **So. It's been a while since I posted anything here. Sorry about that. None of my fics are abandoned and I am very grateful for the continued support and reviews. Seriously.

This was typed directly into ffnet on my phone (it's taken over three hours and I can no longer feel my thumbs) so I am no doubt the victim of much autocorrect and bizarre punctuation. I'll fix it up proper-like when I can.

This isn't my best but I had to say something. Not for wish fulfillment, but for literary reasons, you understand.

**Disclaimer:** This was written by a Romione shipper.

* * *

With Harry sat outside the tent on guard, Hermione was left with the strange sensation of being able to breathe properly for the first time in days only to find the air was too thick in her lungs. They had planned the break into the Ministry to the letter so, of course, it had all fallen apart within minutes. Ron often argued that they worked better on the fly, but she suspected that was more to do with him not being bothered to do work. Maybe he and Harry could make plans up as they went along but she hated it. The unknown, elements she couldn't control... It made her tense just thinking about it.

The moment the plan has disintegrated and they had been separated, Hermione had panicked. If it hadn't been for Harry keeping his cool she might have got herself caught. Now it was over and they had the horcrux to boot. It was a huge weight off her mind.

Naturally, this being part of Harry Potter's life, an even bigger one had replaced it.

Going on the run, while always a possibility, was not one Hermione had explicitly planned to happen in the immediate future. She cursed herself for being stupid enough to forget to bring any food with her. She could have done it after she had packed the tent. Why pack one and not the othe? Surely that would have made perfect sense to-

Behind her, Ron groaned and her inner tirade came to a screeching halt.

Still in his blood-stained magical maintenance robes, Ron was shifting on the bed, clearly trying to find a position that didn't hurt his arm. Despite his injury, one of his first concerns had been the fare of those caught up in their botched scheme, something she hadn't even considered until then. If Harry hadn't been there to cover her reaction, Hermione wasn't sure what she would have done. Whatever action she'd have taken would have reckless, impulsive and highly likely to damage Ron's arm further. Not to mention it would have been embarrassing. The three of them cooped up in a tent was going to present enough problems without two of them being horribly awkward around the other because one of them couldn't control themselves.

Unless he'd reciprocated in some way, of course. Although Hermione didn't have a plan for that either. Besides, that avenue was just as scary as raiding the Ministry.

Ron coughed again and Hermione began fiddling around in her bag for a mug to occupy her hands. With her back to him, she aimed her wand at the mug and tried to conjure water for him, but the spell that she had perfected long ago wasn't working. She willed herself to concentrate but still nothing happened. Her hands were shaking now.

"Hermione?" Ron groaned behind her. "What are you doing?"

She tried again with the same result. The canvas walls were closing in around her. This was _such_ a simple spell.

"Hermione?"

"Just getting you some water," she answered, shocked at how high pitched her voice was. "Won't be a moment."

"Okay. Thanks."

Again she tried, but all that happened was she became more frustrated. She took a and aattempted it verbally. Even as water squirted out of her wand, Hermione felt like a failure. She was meant to be of age and couldn't even perform the simplest spells non-verbally at the minute. What use was she going to be to the others if she couldn't get her head on straight?

Trying to tremors in her movements, Hermione moved over to Ron's bed and handed him the mug without making eye contact. As she stepped away in the hopes of setting the tent up further, Ron called her back.

"You all right?" he asked as she paused, facing away from him.

"Perfectly fine. You should get some rest."

"If you're perfectly fine," Ron retorted, "then I'm Umbridge's cat."

Hermione turned slowly on the spot. Ron's face had a grey hue to it but his smile still managed to shine through. It was impossible not to return it, even if her own was dim in comparison.

"I'll be sure to check my bag for a scratching post," she joked, her voice still sounding strange. "Pink, obviously."

Ron nodded seriously. "Wouldn't want it to clash with the rest of the décour."

At this, Hermione couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't even the mental image of Ron curled up asleep at the base of a fuchsia post that did it; just being near Ron made her lighter. His humour wasn't intellectual, in fact it was downright childish half the time. There was just something about the way he said the words, how he timed them, how they could be perfectly in sync with hers or come from nowhere and surprise her. Even at his lowest, he could find a punchline, even if it was himself.

She wished he wouldn't, though she wished a lot of things when it came to Ron Weasley, and she didn't have the courage to make hardly any of them happen.

"You, er, you could sit with me for a bit?" He shrugged, his ears turning slightly pink. "If you wanted? Nothing else to do, really."

There was plenty else to do, but there was nothing she'd rather do, so Hermione found herself gravitating towards the only thing in the tent that didn't make her want to cry at the sight of it. The chair nearest to him was a good few feet away so Hermione made what she felt was the brave decision of sitting on the edge of the bed. Ron's uninjured arm lay next to her so she kept her hands folded in her lap.

She could feel his gaze on her, but she couldn't look at him without seeing his face twitching as the blood soaked his robes. The silence was awkward, bordering on uncomfortable, simply because they were on the same bed. Hermione scolded herself. They were meant to be adults, after all.

"Remember how you said you weren't sure what you wanted to do after school?" Ron blurted out. Hermione looked at him and saw that his confidence from earlier had disappeared. She nodded, biting her lower lip. "Well, cross travel agent off the list. It's one of about three things you're shit at."

He had just insulted her and yet Hermione was chuckling. In such foreign surroundings even this familiar ground was a comfort. His compliments had been easier to spot recently but the odd backhanded one still found its way through. "So the middle of nowhere isn't your idea of paradise, then?" she teased.

Ron made a face and gave her the best shrug he could. "Probably not, but I guess it could be worse."

And then he was looking at her like there was more to his statement that he couldn't say or she should ask about, but Hermione couldn't find the words. The flicker of hope she had seen faded into hurt as Ron glanced down at his sheets, his mouth twisted into a poor impression of his usual grin. "I'm beginning to think the last person to sleep in the bed _was_ Umbridge's cat. Can you smell that?"

The moment had already gone before Hermione had trusted it to be really there. Yet again Ron had given her an opening that she was too unsure to take. No wonder the boy had no self confidence. Anger flared inside of her and Hermione knew she had to do something, anything, to show she wasn't shutting him out. That if he kept at it, one day she would take the chance.

In the end she straightened his blanket out, being sure to avoid his wound. The whole process was completely unnecessary but Hermione managed to take her time with it anyway. Afterwards she left her hand by his arm, her little finger grazing the fine hairs there. It was such a small gesture, not even a touch, but she could feel the heat from his body, reminding her he was alive in spite of everything and her head cleared a little more.

"You're worse than my mum, you are," he grinned.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, be quiet."

Their eyes found each other and they both smiled stupidly. Less than an hour ago they had been running for their lives after breaking the law in a rather dramatic fashion and now they were in a tent with no proper plan for the future. The whole thing should have had Hermione frantically writing a plan of action while fretting over everything her impressive brain could think of. Instead she was content to sit quietly with a boy who'd rather make jokes than lists and had came closer to death than any of them.

You can't choose who you fall for, Hermione mused, which was lucky, really. This was never a choice she would have made consciously but she wouldn't change it for anything.

"You don't have to babysit me, y'know," Ron mumbled after a while.

"I know," replied Hermione softly.

"You can go and do whatever important stuff it is you were going to do." Ron nodded towards the bag she had left on the table. "Sure you've got a library and a full dinner service stashed away in there that you are just dying to check on."

This time, when he smiled, she didn't smile back. Instead she stretched her little finger out, keeping the rest of her hand still, and gently stroked Ron's arm. Even under this small touch she felt him tense momentarily. "Something like that," she whispered. "I'd rather stay here for a bit though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ron's expression was infuriatingly unreadable. "We'll be okay," he told her softly.

"I know. You should get some rest."

Every nerve in her body was tingling in a way that was almost painful, but Hermione could tell that the blood loss and everything else was taking its toll on Ron, his eyelids sagging over duller-than-normal eyes. He yawned and Hermione suspected that he had been holding it back.

"Gonna watch over me?" he joked as he head lolled onto its side on the pillow. "Be my knight in shining armour?" His eyes closed fully. The only remaining clue he was awake was the half smile still playing around his slightly chapped and pale lips.

Without his gaze on her, Hermione found the courage in her to move her stiff arm and hold his hand. "If you wanted me to," she whispered, expecting him to already be asleep.

To her surprise, however, a sigh escaped him as his fingers closed around hers. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah, I would."

Hermione watched on, lists and priorities forgotten, as his breaths slower and his grip on her hand lessened. Elsewhere, the world was falling apart, people were scared and she was hated for who she was, but on that bed, in a dingy tent in the middle of a forest, it couldn't have been more different.


End file.
